Constant
by gethsemane342
Summary: Two people who work together for that long have to have opinions about each other, right? Very light Haymitch/Effie oneshot.


**Disclaimer:I do not own The Hunger Games**

_Written for Caisha702, who gave me this pairing and asked me to write it._

Constant

Year after year of doing the same job does something to a person. How do you escape what you become? How do you escape something like the Hunger Games?

Well, if you're Effie, you throw yourself right into the frivolities of it.

She remembers perfectly well how enthusiastic she was at the beginning. What she _doesn't_ remember is when she started to put just that little more effort in to cover up what she was feeling. Was it the second year? The third year? Was it even the first one, when she realised that two human beings had died and she had to stand up the next year and pretend it had never happened? The years don't exactly blur into one but her thoughts and actions certainly do.

The only thing which can ease the pain and failure of her job is throwing herself into her image. Aim for the higher star – that other district, just out of reach. Somehow, that will make it all better (even though it won't). If you concentrate on the superficial, reality has no effect on you whatsoever. The superficial doesn't ask you to face horrors. It doesn't constantly question you about whether your actions are right. It doesn't expect you to be the better person because you're clearly not.

Her image is one constant in her life. Years come and go. The children of the embarrassing district (though are they really embarrassing? Are they even children now?) will go through the Games, showing off their bad manners, being killed (murdered?) within a few days. A new hairstyle, a new schedule, a new party. She's always told to deal with the new things in her life. Her image never does that. Being superficial blinds her. When things get bad, her image will take her away from the world of death. It's always ready to make her feel better. People come and go but her image is always there.

The other constant in her life – when she can feel brave enough to look at the world properly – comes in the form of a sarcastic and drunk man. Haymitch. No matter what the year, no matter who the dead ones are, Haymitch Abernathy is there beside her, half-ready to take on the challenge of getting two people through the Games.

Sometimes, she feels only disgust for this man. This man from District 12, this _animal_ whose only thought is to keep drinking. Who seems to barely makes any effort to help her or those children whose lives are in his hands. She looks at him, through the eyes of a superficial Capitol citizen and wonders who would let him represent anyone. And why does he make no effort to help her?

Not that she's much better. After all, after a few days of being genuinely helpful, she goes back to the first constant: her image.

But sometimes, sometimes she truly admires Haymitch. These are the moments when the constants have to change. She has to focus more on the people who are depending on her and he … well, he tries! He attempts to sober up long enough to give useful advice. Late into the night, he'll discuss tactics with her. He'll argue for his tributes, even when he knows it's hopeless and no one is listening. But more than that: he genuinely tries to save the children he is given. Because he feels it too. The kids he gets to know, they have no hope.

In those moments, she feels glad that there are two of them.

If there's one thing she would never do, it would be bringing in more change to her life. She only needs two constants. But in these times, she looks at Haymitch and wonders (vaguely, you understand) what it would be like to be _with_ him and not just 'with' him. To talk about something which does not involve the Games or the Capitol, to smile and laugh at things which are genuinely funny, to (God forbid) have a chance to be the deep person she isn't (even when she is).

Would it be like before or would it be different? Because sometimes, she really does hate Haymitch for all that he does. And sometimes, she loves Haymitch for all that he is.

She hates him for shaming her and his district constantly and she hates him for giving up on life. But she loves him for always _trying_. For never allowing himself to completely give up, as he would like to. For being able to be himself when she cannot bear to do the same. For being the one person she can depend on when the prospect of juggling two people's lives gets too much.

For being the one constant which makes her feel like a proper human being.

* * *

Year after year of doing the same job does something to a person. How do you escape what you become? How do you escape something like the Hunger Games?

Well, if you're Haymitch, you drink.

He doesn't remember quite when it began. The first year? The second? They blur into one, all these years, all these times he's had to go back and say 'I'm sorry, I couldn't save them'. Where did he go wrong?

Who knows?

The only thing which can ease the pain is drinking. Alcohol doesn't expect you to jump up and be a hero. It doesn't order you to run around, killing forty-seven other teenagers. It doesn't ask you to be presentable. Alcohol does one thing and one thing only: it numbs him. It keeps him sane in a world where the crazy is expected.

Alcohol is one constant in his life. Years come and go. People he once knew grow up, get married, and have kids. He watches two kids die every year. People tell him different things, expect new and strange things of him. Alcohol doesn't. Alcohol always numbs him. When things get bad, his drink is always there. Always ready to make him feel invincible. Names and people come and go but that drink is there forever.

That's just one constant.

The other constant in his life – when he can think clearly – comes in the form of a small and somewhat irritating woman. Effie. No matter what the year, no matter who the dead ones are, Effie Trinket is there beside him, ready to take on the challenge of looking after two animals for slaughter.

Sometimes, he feels only loathing for this woman. This Capitol person, this _thing_ who believes whole-heartedly in the Games. Who disapproves of both him and his district. He looks at her, in a drunken haze, and wonders who the hell gave her the right to be so peppy. And who the hell gave _them_ the right to kill these kids?

Not that he's helping much. After all, after a few days of the change, he goes back to his first constant: alcohol.

But sometimes, sometimes he truly admires Effie. These are the moments when his constants have to change. He has to be sober and she … well, damn it, she's helpful. She knows how to run the show for the benefit of a Capitol citizen. But more than that: she never lets the tributes see the strain she feels. Because she feels it too. The kids she gets to know, they're going to die.

In those moments, he feels glad there are two of them.

If there's one thing he would never do, it would be bringing in more change to his life. He only needs two constants. But in these times, he looks at Effie and wonders (vaguely, you understand) what it would be like to be _with_ her and not just 'with' her. To have a conversation with her which doesn't involve two children who will shortly be dead, to laugh like a normal person, to (God forbid) be sober with her.

Would it be like before or would it be different? Because sometimes, he really does hate Effie for all that she stands for. And sometimes, he loves Effie for all that she is.

He hates her disregard for these kids' lives and he hates what she stands for. But he loves her for always _being_ there. For never giving up on these kids when he himself gave up long ago. For being the one person you can always depend on in this bloody situation they call a game and he calls Hell.

For being the one constant which makes him feel like a proper human being.


End file.
